How can one possibly write briefly about Bdsm and the plethora of arts, symbolism, rich history and eros that it evokes?

At a certain point words simply fail. Despite the physicality of much of the sadomasochistic arts for example, these acts remain profoundly psychological..that is the desire to engage finds its genesis in the body/mind/soul self..

S/m IS an art form. D/s is IS intimately relational and pyscho/emotional.

The mind is theatre, Bdsm is theatre and those of us who taste and become more than here on a seasonal pass..have a capacity for imagination and a desire to have that capacity fed in ways perhaps others lack..

Some of us are adrenalin junkies, some of us find deep nurture in this world, some of us have a penchant for outside the box self expression, a driving need to convey to others and to mirror to self the originality that arises from our cores..

Many of us approach this theatre from all these angles.

Whatever our original portal into this world was..whether whispers of persuasions and tastes in childhood or discoveries thru involvments as adults..discoveries of something wanting in our relationships or discoveries of deep satisfactions previously unknown, Once awakened, it becomes a journey of self as unique, of self as social being, of mores and values, and choice and appetite.

Our appetites change as we evolve, and our appetites change with age.

In midlife, there seems a stopping point, a transition for many, a reawakening of the sexual identity questions that first emerged in adolescence, typically..

and the world of Bdsm spreads before us, expotentially increasing our capacities to find nuance and art form in the expression of our erotic selves beyond the normative vanilla scripting.

Why do so many keep what is essentially a photo journal here?

We could claim narcsissm, or exhibitionism as defined by current sociomedical techofuks, but I think something else is at play …

We live in a culture soaked in sexual imagery as commodity..sex as a means to sell..something else, product X or product Y.

It is NOT expression of sexuality for its own erotic sake…

We are surrounded by sex, and yet, we are a curiously desexualized culture, irony there, the true longing, that to express our sexual selves simply for the joy and pleasures, dark and light of such expression untied to commodification is a radical act, an act of taking back our eros as unfettered, free and innately OURS.

True eros IS untameable, and like art rather than science, it is messy, capricious, unpredictable, and dangerous.

D/s and S/m’s powerful and haunting pull are hard to explain to the uniniated or unawakened..perhaps those that make it here to this world and take up residence have a deeper need to dream while awake, the stuff of nightmares AND rapture, the transformational..

Perhaps from the outside we are shunned as evil or outcasts because it is so powerful opening Pandora’s box, and like all that is innately spiritual and radical there have always been those who would seek to contain and control the mystical..

Simply because you cannot OWN mystical experience, you cannot force it, it is power spitting in so called power’s face..

Just some thoughts from the cat. Have a great day..thoughts back on this musing?

It happened this evening. Out of nowhere. I have never been into needle play, needles scare me…but I have the sudden craving to be tacked. To push the fine points of multiple tacks into a pattern on my breasts and my ass..to photograph it, slight red trickles and all..

I was looking in the mirror after my shower, and I raised my arms into the air, crossed my wrists, and stared. I could “see” ,imagine a perfect circle of pushpins around the outside of the pale pink of my nipples, I started to space..

Just the pin prick sensation, the slightest bloodletting.

And I could feel a pattern on the burning cheeks of my ass, my inner thighs. Its the urge to see something pretty, the pattern against my white skin, and to feel the sting of each little push.

I know I have to swab with alcohol and soak, and only penetrate the slightest depth..but the craving is intense, it is shocking, sometimes I do practice sadomasochistic acts solo, I’ve inserted freezer chilled butterknives into my cunt, sat spread eagled in front of an old vanity circular mirror and slid in one of those wine corkscrews and then opened it like a speculum, I have lit my nipples flashing back and forth with a lighter,I love to strap my cunt with leather, but my Dominant will not let me actually cut without his supervision because I space so deeply. I’ve only used a sharp blade with his prescence.

Tonight, it seems to becoming from some almost inarticulate artistic urge, something masochistic, an ache, but combined with the desire to see my blood , and to feel for the first time a prick sensation..the hunger it is sanguine and I feel the veil of space closing over me..the desire to see something beautiful,

my clamps won’t do it tonight tho I love them on my clit, and nipples..has anyone else had a new craving come out of nowhere and feel compelling, and begin to space just imagining the look of it?

If I get permission I will take a photo, it is like some artistic ritual longing.. tonight..

Listening to William Orbit and Beth Orton’s Dice this morning, an oceanic remix, trance, it’s beautiful how it waves like the swell of a roller at sea.

I’m feeling some poignancy, an ache, excitement about the day …but struggling to focus crisply and with clarity on the manuscript on masochism as a way of life, a life aesthetic, that is completed, but that I am organizing and pulling together..

I am so excited about this manuscript, it was an odd project, it did not begin with intent, I realized it had cohesion as a work after a year’s worth of musings were pulled together and in the hand.

I write on napkins, yellow lined paper pads, lipstick on the mirror, hell on my body if this is the only place to jot a fragment of poetry, a phrase.

Metaphor is everywhere for the tongue, the eyes, the heart.

I have longed to do some performance art for a few years now, my writing in prose poetiks is for my mouth and for your ear, it is begging to release itself thru my body as text and multimedia.

Story telling, the art of, is shamanistic..and my body must speak..static photos do not feed my urge to bring motion to sound.

A leap, but one I am ready for, and I am eager to connect with other performance artists for idea exchange, mentoring..

Welcome! Enjoy a growing collection of informative and polemical articles and prose poetry, I write with a celtic influence, on a range of topics from D/s to madness and the way the topography of the land shapes a people and their collective soul… This space will feature interviews and I ... Continue reading →